The Miracle
The day was quickly coming to a close as I went to see one more patient. He’d been admitted to the AIDS ward several times in the past and I’d pulled his chart notes and read through the previous interactions that had occurred.
As I entered his room, I saw how much Marvin had changed since his last admittance. His body was extremely thin and he was too weak to stand on his own any longer. The biggest change however was his mental status, as he’d been diagnosed with HIV dementia and was on the unit awaiting placement.
Five of the sixteen patients on 5-A that week were there due to HIV-related dementia and the difficult placement problems it created. Because of the challenging experience of trying to connect with someone who is demented and the anguish it can cause their loved ones, these patients often spent a lot of time alone.
As I sat there with Marvin, I worked really hard to make contact in any possible way. I asked him about the television show he was watching and the lunch he’d just been fed. I read his get-well cards out loud and asked him about each of the senders. His responses were so minimal, I felt I wasn’t connecting, and as I got up to leave, he turned his head, his eyes following me.
"You're not going yet, are you?" he asked.
I sat back down and told him I could stay a little longer, touched and moved by his question. I sat with him in silence as he stared blankly at the television. I held his hand. I had assumed that my presence had not been felt and, in doing so, had almost missed the connection we were having. Eventually he closed his eyes and went to sleep, and I went back to the Shanti office to write in our communication log.
As I walked home that day I thought about Marvin, and how being with him had been like looking through a window into a world that could easily be mine or anyone else I knew or cared about. How did people keep going after such difficult and challenging experiences? How did the people who loved them carry on?
I found comfort walking through Precita Park, leaving the concrete and stepping onto the grass, as I tried to do every day, and there was that shift again, ever so slight, that helped me climb up the hill and get home. As I passed by the swings, I remembered one of my favorite mottos, written by Thich Nhat Hanh, the Vietnamese Buddhist priest and peace activist.
“The miracle,” he wrote, “is not to walk on water. The miracle is to walk on earth.”
I remember the wonderful community Precita Park at the foot of Bernal Hill - it’s where they found and arrested Patty Hearst/SLA’s alleged accomplice Wendy Yoshimura back in the day… what a contrast in that with the comfort and peace that you found there after hard days giving solace and comfort to guys like dear Marvin… thanks again dear Ed for another touching story from the lives of those you helped care for when they needed care the most… you inspire us all!!!
Another deeply moving reflection, Ed. We so often don’t realize the impact we have on each other. My mother spent the last 5 years of her life in a memory care unit, and I often left visits with her feeling gutted because she didn’t seem to know or care who I was or whether I was there. But there were also moments where I could sense that she was more there than I realized. A beautiful quote from TNH, too. Thank you for all of it.